


Russian, Lifts, and Gay Disasters

by scarletazure



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Humor, Go Clint, I have an essay due tomorrow but im writing this instead, M/M, bucky is such a gay disaster, clint is actually an awesome actor, haha also rip bucky, nat exposing bullshit, no beta we die like men, rip steve, winterhawk - Freeform, wrote this at like 12am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletazure/pseuds/scarletazure
Summary: Inspired by the Norray fic 'Language Barrier'.In which Bucky thinks it is a good idea to objectify blondie-the-hottie in the elevator for stress relief, but it's no problem because he's speaking in Russian and the guy doesn't understand it, right?
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 167





	Russian, Lifts, and Gay Disasters

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Language Barrier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103674) by [Piper_Emerald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piper_Emerald/pseuds/Piper_Emerald). 



> Inspired by the Norray fic 'Language Barrier'. It's a hilarious fic I based the premise on, highly recommend - you can go read it here at https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103674#main
> 
> Sorry, kinda feel like this is mild plagiarism but the idea was just great so I couldn't resist lol...a little bit rushed, but enjoy anyway, guys! Also I don't actually speak Russian so I have no idea whether what I wrote was correct but well if the internet says so then...

University, Bucky decided, was synonymous with Hell.

His chapped lips were dry, mouth desperate for a liquid that wasn’t anything caffeinated; on the other hand, his body was desperate for nothing _except_ something caffeinated and/or a good twelve hours of sleep, judging from his dark eye bags and bed head when he had rolled off the couch that morning. Bucky knew he had a half-crazed look about him, and that coupled with his RBF sent everyone in the radius scurrying away. He wasn’t too bothered, though. The further away they went, the better.

Meanwhile, Steve was clutching his notebook beside him, prattling on about something or the other as Bucky contemplated his life choices very seriously.

“-and so I need you to talk to me in Russian for the next few weeks,” Steve was saying.

Bucky blinked, not entirely sure he heard correctly. “What. Why?”

“Were you not listening?” Steve said exasperatedly. “My Russian exam. I haven’t studied at all, I was too busy working on my new piece…” Steve vaguely gestured to his sketchbook and went off on a tangent about his latest art project before Bucky could stop him.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky replied quickly, in Russian, as Steve nodded looking satisfied, and then concerned as he took a closer look at Bucky.

“But seriously, are you okay?” Steve asked worriedly. “You look like, well, shit.”

“Stevie said a bad wordie,” Bucky sing-songed in an attempt to avoid the question, but Steve frowned, unamused. 

“You’re overworking yourself,” Steve chided as Bucky rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out his head - he could feel another lecture coming. The fact that Steve was still giving a lecture even in another language was enough to set Bucky’s headache off all over again. “You should drop at least one of your classes. You’re taking too many - you’re bound to get burnt out, Buck-”

“Elevator’s here,” Bucky interrupted, and then stepped into the lift, Steve quieting momentarily upon seeing the other person inside - it was a well-built blonde with the most striking blue eyes Bucky had ever seen, jawline sharp enough for Bucky to slit his throat on (he was tempted) and sandy chaotic hair falling sweeping over his forehead, band-aids covering his body and a coffee cup in hand. Both the coffee and the man looked equally appetising, at this point.

“Still,” Steve seemed to make a decision to ignore the other man, not speaking in Russian anymore, “I think you really need to loosen up a bit-”

Bucky let out an incredulous, half-deranged laugh. “Loosen up? Stevie, you are the _last_ person who ever gets to say that to me. When was the last time you got laid?”

Steve went red as he spluttered, and the blonde looked simultaneously confused and amused but didn’t say anything, so he probably didn’t understand Russian. “Well then,” continued Bucky, sleep-deprived and oxygen-deprived and a very, very non-existent brain to mouth filter, “There’s a hottie right here, how about you go proposition him?”

The gorgeous blonde blinked but his expression didn’t change, further confirming that he likely didn’t speak Russian, but Steve went even redder if possible, scandalised. “B-bucky! He can hear you!!”

“Look at him, he doesn’t understand us,” Bucky replied, rolling the Russian language over his tongue exaggeratedly. “But damn, look at him. Have you seen those biceps.”

Steve choked out a horrified laugh. “Buck, he’s _right there_!”

“And those eyes, wow,” Bucky steamrolled right over him - he still wasn’t in his right mind and this was actually pretty fun - “I would probably quote some Shakespeare here, but I don’t actually know the translation of Shakespeare English into Russian. Either way, I thought this elevator was hot as hell, but it’s about ten times hotter with him here with us.”

Steve looked absolutely mortified. “Buck!”

“Shush, Steve, I’m appreciating a work of art,” Bucky said. He was feeling strangely better; huh. Who knew objectifying strangers could be such good stress relief? “Holy crap he should wear tighter clothes. Is it just me or are those rippling abs underneath that shirt? Shirt? Who needs a shirt. This man certainly doesn’t.”

Steve was obviously ready to melt into a puddle on the floor. The blonde, who was leaning against the side of the lift, picking absently at his band-aid, had his head tilted away from them, fiddling with his phone emptily. Was it just Bucky or were his shoulders shaking with laughter? Either way, _those shoulders_....

“He can pin me with those shoulders anytime,” Bucky proclared. “Or perhaps the other way around. Yeah, that sounds good. He looks strong but I bet I’m stronger.”

The blond twitched, and so did Steve. When the elevator finally stopped at their floor, Steve looked so relieved it just made Bucky’s mood that much better as he stepped out feeling considerably _much_ less shitty and _much_ more awake than before, tossing his hair behind him coyly as he called out one last time, not really making eye contact with the blond but still talking to him. “Прощай, Красотка!”

“I hope we never see him again,” Steve whispered, switching back to English this time as they exited. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye.”

“Why not?” Bucky said cheerfully, still in Russian, slapping him on the back. “You can say something like ‘hey my friend thinks you’re sex on a stick, wanna make out with him sometime’?”

“No,” Steve said, horrified. 

“Meh. Suit yourself.”

  
That wasn’t the last they saw of blondie-the-hottie. Bucky went from annoyed to grinning in a split second when he entered the elevator and saw the same guy in his corner of the lift, with fresh bandages and a new bruise on his cheek. In contrast, Steve went positively green. He had always been a prude.

“My day just became ten times better,” Bucky announced, once again curling his mouth into Russian with gleeful abandon. “And I just became ten times more hungry. In more ways than one.”

Steve had adopted the futile strategy of ignoring Bucky so it looked like he was talking to himself in Russian, but that didn’t matter. “How much do you think I have to pay this angel to give me a BJ? Because, _whoo_ , just _take my money already_.”

Steve still didn’t reply, but his neck went red again. 

“And,” Bucky added, letting out a low wolf whistle. The blond looked startled at the sudden sound and looked up from his phone, but Bucky was careful not to look back at him. “Can you see that masterful thing they call an ass in those jeans? I’m drooling. Or maybe I’m drooling at his coffee, but, you know, I would totally drink both of them down in a heartbeat.”

As if in response to his words, the blondie’s grip on his cup tightened, and he shifted slightly, exposing a quiver of arrows behind his back and he was clutching a bow and arrow in his other hand as naturally as breathing; Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Paleolithic weapons? Kinky.”

Steve groaned. Bucky bared his teeth in a smile of victory at finally coaxing out a response from his best friend. The doors opened and Steve rushed out, and once again, Bucky made a small amused noise at the back of his throat and followed behind.

Every time he saw the blondie it gave him a pleasant rush. Bucky was developing a strange fondness for him, with occasional bandaids and bruises popping up every so often, always with a cup of coffee in hand and sometimes a bow and arrow as well. The first time he heard the blondie’s voice, however, was when he and Steve entered the lift, hearing an animated voice going off and realising it was the man on the phone. English.

“Nat, I keep telling you, it’s not my fault that the deadlines set- yes. Wait, no, _no_ ! Damnit. Damn, okay, okay. Oh, by the way, have you talked to Pietro- Nat. Nat, wait, Nat _do not hang up on me NAT_ -”

There was a loud beeping noise on the other end of the line and he put his phone down, disgruntled, before glancing up at the two of them with an awkward smile of apology. Bucky stifled a laugh, then was momentarily distracted by those eyes and the smile before going back to his usual routine. “Oh look, even his voice is amazing. I wonder what it would be like if he called my name instead? Preferably, loudly, and enthusiastically, while co-”

Steve gave him a warning look. “That was probably his girlfriend,” he cut in pointedly, in Russian.

“That’s just a shame,” Bucky said exaggeratedly. Okay, sure, he felt a little bad perving on some woman’s boyfriend who was probably straight, but the whole point was for him to let off some steam. Thinking of new witty ways to hit on someone without him knowing did that pretty well. “The love of my life has betrayed me! Oh, but don’t worry, I’ll win him back.”

Steve just shook his head. In English this time, he said, “Buck, you’re horrendous.”

The blond’s head practically shot up to bang against the lift wall before Bucky could reply; he eyed Steve with blatant surprise, and then asked, “You speak English?”

Steve, startled, took a while to reply. “Uh...yeah?”

Blondie-the-hottie blinked. “Oh.”

There was silence.

“Well…” Steve said awkwardly as the lift ground to a halt, both of them not really meeting each other’s eyes. “Bye.”

“Bye,” the man said faintly, and the second the doors closed behind them Bucky let out a whoop. “You talked to him!”

“Yes, Buck, I did,” Steve rolled his eyes. “You should try it sometime. See if you have the balls to hit on him to his face.”

“Maybe one day,” Bucky replied seriously, and then Steve looked quite sorry that he had said anything at all.

Weeks passed like this, and one day when Bucky was coming back from the shooting range, he passed by the archery range, stopped and then turned back.

Was that-?

Yup, oh wow, it was him. Bucky stood by what he said about those biceps as the elevator guy handled his weapon with a clear familiarity, drawing back his bow in one fluid motion that didn’t seem like a usual archery stance but the man did it comfortably, as simply as ABC. The air was still, quiet; Bucky found himself holding his breath right as he let the arrow zip by with a whoosh, hitting bullseye so easily Bucky blinked to make sure he saw correctly, as the man did it again, and again, and again.

At one point he pushed the targets further and repeated it all over again, notching three arrows at once and hitting them effortlessly, then screwing around with different bow positions and distances, looking like he was having tons of fun. His experience was obvious from ten miles away; his hand was steady, never so much as wavered or flinched, eyes narrowed in a lax sort of concentration.

Bucky hadn't known he had a competency kink, but _damn him_ if he wasn’t slightly aroused.

The next time they were in the lift Bucky went on a ranting spiral, rapid fire Russian spilling out to a Steve who looked slightly at a loss, not really able to keep up. “-he’s bloody brilliant, Stevie, like - like a me with a bow instead of a gun, although of course I’m still better, but fuck me it wasn’t hot watching him-”

Steve whacked him on the head with his sketchbook in an attempt to get Bucky to shut up. It didn’t work, but it was a nice try.

  
  


The first time Clint saw Bucky Barnes, he looked ready to kill a man and then possibly eat him.

So for his safety, when the guy assumed he didn’t speak Russian, he schooled his face into a neutral expression and fiddled with his phone, lips twitching uncontrollably in an effort not to laugh in case the guy had a mental breakdown and really _did_ shoot him or something.

Clint recognised Steve Rogers, of course - everyone did. And so by association and by the description of ‘a madman soldier who looks like the last time he had sleep was 1965’, the other guy was James Buchanian ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Clint had to say, those descriptions didn’t do him justice, because that jawline and those eyelashes and pretty curling brown hair falling over his eyes-

Well, in any case, it was a surprise when the man began objectifying him in both a very rude and very flattering way. After all, as far as he had heard, Barnes didn’t exactly just go around perving on people in Russian.

Although it was definitely exhausting to pretend he couldn’t understand Russian. For one, he had to bite back hysterical laughter on more than one occasion, and act surprised that Rogers could speak English, and _not_ be surprised when he found out that Bucky had seen him at the range the other day.

Which was why he should’ve known that allowing Nat to drag him to the elevator together was a terrible, terrible idea.

Clint specialised in terrible, terrible ideas.

When Barnes and Rogers entered, the latter saw Nat and froze with such a horrified expression Clint would normally start snickering; he turned to Barnes apprehensively. “Um, Buck-”

Barnes put a dramatic hand to his forehead, letting out a loud sigh that Nat gave him a startled look for. “My heart is broken, oh, how could my darling angel cheat on me, who will I daydream of pinning to walls now?” Bucky flailed, as Rogers went continuously paler, studiously not looking at Nat. “Buck. Bucky.”

Nat sent him Clint an equal parts confused and amused look. Clint winced, and when Barnes continued rambling on in Russian and Nat opened her mouth to interject, Clint hurriedly elbowed her and shook his head frantically. Nat narrowed her eyes flatly.

“-I mean, maybe I’m lacking a pair of breasts, sure, but I can give hella good head,” Barnes went on, oblivious to his best friend’s obvious turmoil, Nat’s appraising eye or Clint’s urge to bang his head against the wall in second hand embarrassment. It was only when Rogers grabbed his shoulders and hissed, ‘she can understand Russian’, did Barnes shut the hell up, look on his face comically blank as he turned to face the front. 

He cleared his throat once. Never before had a silence made Clint want to hurl himself out the nearest window so badly.

When the elevator doors gave way, both of them scrambled for the exit, Roger’s face as flushed as he’d ever seen it. Just as the doors were about to close, though, Nat paused a beat and then called out, “He understands Russain too, y’know.”

Clint was only able to see Barnes blanch and swivel around with what was quite possibly the most betrayed look ever, looking as though someone had both punched his dog and then proceeded to steal it, before the elevator doors shut with a _ting_.

“Ohmy _god_ whydidyou _do_ that,” Clint yelped, and then groaned loudly, giving in to the temptation of trying to give himself a concussion to get amnesia and forget everything that had just happened by slamming his head back on the wall.

“That was certainly something,” Nat said, undeterred and very obviously trying not to laugh. “Does that happen...often? You’ve never said anything to me about it.”

“Because I knew this would happen!” he howled, and then made the decision never to take this lift again. “I’m going to avoid him for the rest of my life.”

“But why?” Nat smirked. “You didn’t exactly seem opposed to being objectified right in front of your face in another language.”

Clint glared at her, and then stepped out of the lift as they reached their floor. “I mean, have you seen him? Have you seen him sniping at the shooting range? Like, it’s the epitome of perfection. It’s flattering to have someone with the body of Adonis, an amazing wit and that freaking jawline to think you’re hot, just a little.”

Nat stared at him, a bit nonplussed this time, as she followed him out. “Have you been stalking him?”

Clint looked away. “No!” he said defensively. “Well, not exactly.”

Nat shook her head disbelievingly. “Just go get his number or something, Clint. You’re so whipped.”

“Wha- excuse me? I’m not, okay! I just… well… Nat, wait up! Hey! Damn it, Nat!”

  
  


Later on that night, be it fate of destiny or God or whatever in the Heavens that brought the two of them together, Clint gave a quiet thanks for. The bar was crowded and smelled of cheap whiskey, scent of alcohol and a sour tang of fruit filling the air as noisy patrons chatted, some fully drunk and talking loudly and others slightly tipsy but with their speech obviously slurred; the lighting was dim and relaxing, and so before Clint realised who it was, he had sidled next to the guy and gestured for a bartender to pour him a bourbon.

When Barnes spotted him and made a sound between a squeak and a grunt Clint did a double take and nearly fell out of his seat.

“So.” Barnes said faintly.

“So.” Clint replied, equally awkwardly.

Staring right into his intense, slate grey eyes was a whole experience altogether. Clint averted his eyes at almost the same time Barnes did, the latter downing his shot glass in one go. Clint winced.

“So, uh, sorry,” Barnes said finally, a small flush rising down the high of his cheekbones. It was a look so wholly new on the guy Clint had to make sure it wasn’t just the light playing tricks on him. “Y’know. About the whole. Lift thing.”

“Nah,” Clint said, defusing the situation the best way he knew how - with humour and deflection. “After all, it’s always good to know I have a possible chance in a career of prostitution if I ever run out of money.”

Yup, Barnes was definitely turning pink. “I mean, duh. You’ll have to forgive Steve, though, he tried to get me to stop, but, well.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that,” Clint snorted, then accepted his drink from the bartender and tilted his head back to down the glass, the drink burning pleasantly at the back of his throat. He looked back to see Barnes eyeing his neck as he gulped down, and then smirked. “What, enjoying the view?” he said, in Russian.

Barnes’ gaze snapped upwards, eyes narrowing. “I think these past few weeks have got your ego inflated all the way to Mars,” he said, switching languages effortlessly.

“Bold statement coming from the one who’s been doing the inflation, and who is also supposed to be giving me an apology for objectifying said stranger in front of their face repeatedly in a language you thought they didn’t understand.”

Barnes raised his eyebrows in an obvious gesture of challenge. “Fine,” he said, slamming another empty glass down onto the table, causing Clint to nearly jump. “That dartboard over there. If I win, you forgive me and forget all about it. If you win... well, you won’t win, so no point talking about that.”

Clint scoffed with a smirk and raised his eyebrows right back. “Even if I win - which, by the way, I will - how do I know you won’t just claim you lost because you were drunk?”

“Because I’m _not_ drunk,” Barnes replied with a wicked grin, and then pushed his stool back as he stood up.

They were practically evenly matched, much to Clint’s reluctant expectations. He had seen the man shoot before, after all - even though, naturally, Clint was still sure he was better, and was determined to prove Barnes wrong when he had said he was a better shot in the elevator that day. But when Barnes made a tiny slip in one of the rounds, Clint seized the advantage to go in for the kill, throwing the other guy off balance as he crowed in victory, Barnes scowling.

“Hey, I demand a rematch. Bet you that was a fluke.”

“Someone’s a sore loser,” Clint shot back, and wow, it turns out _he_ was the one actually a little drunk. He stumbled a bit, and then said, “So, can I collect my prize? Is that BJ still on the table?” he blurted before he could filter anything, and Barnes promptly choked on his drink.

“Are you drunk?”

“Just a little bit,” Clint shrugged. “Are you?”

“Just a little bit,” Barnes echoed, and then added, “Enough that that sounds like a pretty decent idea right now. Although, are you being serious right now? I had no idea you were anything but straight, and, well, you’re taking this surprisingly well...most people would be super pissed at me by now.”

“Ugh, most people are boring,” Clint sighed dramatically, and then leaned in close enough that he could smell Barnes’ scent of diesel, and lavender, and just a little hint of vanilla and something he wasn’t quite able to place. “So let’s start again.” He stuck out his hand with a quirk of the lips, watching with gratification as Barnes tracked the gesture with his eyes. “Hello, hottie, I’m Clint. Nice to meet you.”

“Well, Clint, I’m Bucky,” Barnes said, a little hoarsely as he shook his hand and pulled him closer. “Now, what do you say I take you up on your offer?”

“Lovely,” Clint said, heart skipping a beat, and then face splitting into a grin.

Again, he wasn’t the best at making good decisions. But right now, that was a problem for the sober him to worry about another time.

  
  
  



End file.
